


make you not really care

by liquidsky



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Prom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 20:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20699381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liquidsky/pseuds/liquidsky
Summary: Eddie would like to request a fucking guide book, please.





	make you not really care

**Author's Note:**

> i just... high school AUs, man.

"Fucking _fuck_ Bowers," Richie cursed, all six foot of him sprawled across the bench, gangly limbs all over the place, one of his hands holding Bill's sweatshirt up to his bleeding nose. 

Perched right above Richie, Eddie looked down at him, frowning at the sight of his scraped knees peeking out of the hole in his jeans. Richie, Eddie thought, was a real fucking asshole, but it wasn’t as though he _deserved_ to get the shit beat out of him by Bowers and his gang of greasy miscreants. It was always the same goddamned idiocy with them – “Fairy this,” “Fairy that.” How they hadn’t gotten tired of spewing the same load of bullshit every single day for the last fucking _century_, Eddie didn’t know, but it was, like, super fucking infuriating, so Eddie was kind of pleased that Richie seemed to have had enough of their crap. 

Not that that had done them any fucking favors, really, hence the everlasting stream of blood pouring out of Richie’s nose, but at least they’d gotten the minute-long satisfaction of watching Bowers splutter around before he’d come to his senses and punched the daylights out of Richie. 

There they were, then, with Bill pacing back and forth in front of them and looking slightly manic, and Richie groaning quietly, his chin and chest stained with blood. Eddie knocked his knee against Richie’s back, smiling when Richie tried to grin back at him. 

“Guh-god, I wish Bowers would fucking druh-drop _dead_.” Bill said, his stutter growing worse as it did when he got too worked up about shit. So, pretty fucking often. 

Eddie sighed, “We all fucking do. How the shit it hasn’t happened yet should be, like, a fucking X-Files episode.”

“Maybe he’s an alien,” Richie mumbled, changing the angle of Bill’s sweatshirt over his nose so he could speak, “That’d explain his fucking horrid fashion.”

Eddie snorted, and Bill kept pacing, fists clenched, until Richie spoke again. 

“Also, d’you ever wonder what the fuck is up with the homophobia?” Richie mused, “Everyone and their mothers know he sucked Hockstetter off behind the bleachers that one time.”

“He did _what_?” Eddie spluttered, because apparently not _everyone_ knew that. 

Richie tried to frown, but it quickly turned into a wince when it was obvious that facial expressions would have to be a no. 

“Dude, last year? How do you not know about this?”

“Dude,” Eddie made a face, “How the fuck do _you_?”

Sighing, Bill plopped down next to Richie, “Those were juh-just rumors.”

“Uh, yeah?” Richie said, “Like me being gay is a fucking rumor, but–”

Eddie interrupted, “We get it.” 

“Do you?” Richie looked at Eddie. “Do you really?”

“You say it like, three thousand fucking times a day.” Eddie pointed out. “We know.”

Richie nodded, acquiescing easily when Bill placed a hand on his back to push him forward a little, “Good. Just so you know I’m not fucking part of the straight agenda.”

“What fucking–” Eddie said, “What _agenda_?”

“The fact that you don’t know really makes you wonder, huh.”

Bill snorted, and Eddie reached around Richie to shove him to the side. 

“You’re like, fully the most fucking insensitive gay guy I’ve ever met, what is wrong with you?”

“First off, I’m the _only_ gay guy you’ve ever met, so jot that down.” Richie stated, “Secondly, it’s not insensitive. I’m just saying–”

Eddie rolled his eyes at him, “You weren’t gay yet when we met. And I know what you’re fucking saying, so maybe _don’t_, just for, like, at least an hour.”

“I’ve always _been_ gay, idiot,” argued Richie. “I’d give it a fucking break if you said yes to prom, Eduardo.”

Beside them, Bill laughed quietly to himself, but both of them just ignored him. 

“Do you fucking _enjoy_ getting punched in the face? Is that what this is?”

Richie paused, “I mean–I’d be open if that’s what you’re into.”

“I’m not–” Eddie stammered. “For fuck’s sake. What is it about Derry that you don’t get?”

“Dude, fuck that. They can’t tell us how to live our lives.”

Eddie frowned at him, “Uh, obviously they fucking can? And everyone’s a fucking homophobe here, so–”

“That’s what they want us to think,” Richie stated sagely, and Bill glanced at him with a small smile, nudging their knees together. 

“Okay,” Eddie said. “Let’s say you’re right. Not everyone in this shithole is a piece of crap homophobe. Why hasn’t anyone done anything to help you yet?”

“Because Bowers is scary as shit,” Richie answered, “So, like, all we gotta do is kill him and we’re good.”

Bill cackled, loud and abrupt, and even Eddie cracked a small smile. 

“Didn’t you just say he’s gay?” Eddie smirked, “Isn’t that, like, intraspecies murder or something?”

Richie shrugged, “It’s a worthy cause.”

Eddie grinned at him, small at first then growingly wider the longer they stared at each other, the same familiar warmth spreading up and down and _everywhere_ as Eddie looked at Richie. He’d always been slightly freaked out by eye-contact, but not with him. Looking at Richie had always felt more or less like staring into a black hole – he could feel himself being dragged in, and it was always pretty fucking surprising, the amount of effort it took for him to stop it. 

Next to them, Bill cleared his throat, so they glanced away from each other to tilt their heads at him. 

“Are we skuh-skipping next period too?”

Eddie shook his head, “I’m pretty sure Mr. Young’s giving us a pop quiz.”

“Richie?” Bill asked after nodding at Eddie.

“Yeah, no, it’s gonna be a hard fucking pass.” Richie answered, turning to Eddie. “Should I wait for you?”

Eddie grinned, “If you wanna live to see another day.”

Bill rolled his eyes, leaping up from his seat and shaking himself a little. “I’ll suh-see you later, then. I think Bev’s cuh-coming to stay with you.”

“Sure,” Richie said, and Eddie got up, too, pressing his palm to Richie’s shoulders and lingering just enough for Richie to blink up at him, slightly confused. 

Eddie smiled, “See you in a bit.”

“Uh,” Richie stared at him, a faint blush rising to his cheeks, “See you.”

– 

With his feet up on the wall, Eddie looked at Richie from an upside down angle, taking in the purple, ugly bruising on his face. They had a habit of hanging out after school just the two of them, though it was generally more of a consequence to the fact that the rest of Losers had other shit to attend to and they _didn’t_ than it was to how Eddie spent most of his time wishing he’d spend time alone with Richie then trying to convince himself he didn’t wish he was spending time alone with Richie. 

Whatever the reason, Eddie had always, at least for the past five years, ended up sprawled across Richie’s bed after school. It was a good routine, if he said so himself. 

Richie’s bedroom was _kind_ of a disaster zone, with the fuckton of playboy posters he had “ironically” hung up on the walls and the scary amount of pairless socks scattered around the floor, but other than that it was pretty clean, and Eddie had a serious suspicion that Richie, who pretty much much looked in every possible way like someone who’d be a fucking slob, went to the effort of cleaning both his room and himself in general just _for him_. That line of thought usually made Eddie’s palms tingle, though, so he never lingered too long in it. 

Instead of thinking, he stared at Richie, watching him until Richie fidgeted and got up from where he’d been lying on the floor. 

“What do you want to do?” Richie asked him, stretching his arms, “Actually, hold on, I need to grab some fucking ice for my face. Do you want anything from downstairs?”

Eddie shifted on the bed so he was sitting up, “Some water, please.”

“Sure,” Richie grinned, and Eddie plopped back down as soon as Richie had disappeared past the door, only to look around and find a purple envelope sticking out from under Richie’s wayward pile of classic novels he liked to pretend that he read. 

Because Eddie was curious, and also because he had no fucking self-control to speak of when it came to Richie, he reached for the envelope and pulled it open, his eyes widening as he flipped the contents around to look down at his name, written in Richie’s flaming garbage of a calligraphy. 

He stared, and stared, until he heard Richie’s loud steps tromping up the stairs, and he shoved the prom tickets back into the envelope and the envelope back under the pile. Richie, blessedly unaware of Eddie being a nosy fuck, handed him the glass of water and shoved him to the side so he could sit with his back against the wall next to Eddie.

“Eds,” Richie started, “What are you plans for next year?”

– 

Eddie was losing it a little bit, if he was being honest. Richie had gotten the tickets. He fucking had the tickets, with Eddie’s fucking _name_ on them, and Eddie’s palms were sweating so much the spot on his thigh where he kept wiping them had started to look damp. It wasn’t as though he had thought that Richie was kidding, exactly, but it was surprising. Richie had bought the tickets, and he had written his name down, which meant that he was actually fucking serious about taking Eddie to prom, and Eddie sneaked glances at the rest of their group wondering who the shit else knew about it, and why no one had had the decency of fucking _warning_ him. 

They knew him, they fucking had to have known that he was too fucking controlling not to want to know for sure that Richie hadn’t been fucking with him and instead spent his time and his money on their goddamned _prom_ plans, which as event was still something Eddie thought to be absolute bullshit, but now it was something else altogether. Not really only an event but a whole fucking _thing_, with meanings and Richie’s _feelings_ spreading all over the place. Not that Eddie didn’t have feelings – the problem, really, when it came down to it, was that Eddie had _too many_, and they were just about as out of control as a fucking summer storm. Eddie wasn’t too fond of things he couldn’t control or predict, and the lack of a guide book for the whole _being in love with your childhood best friend_ who _also happens to be a guy_, so, _surprise, I guess you’re gay now_ clusterfuck was top tier on his list of things that pissed him the fuck off on a daily basis. 

How the fuck was he supposed to know, is what had him, and he glared at the back of Stan’s head with narrowed eyes because if anyone had known it was definitely Stan, and he _hadn’t told Eddie_. 

Being the berserk individual that he had always been, Eddie waited until most of the losers had walked into their classrooms to drag Stan into the bathroom, meticulously checking that it was empty before turning to Stan, 

“Why the shit didn’t you tell me Richie had bought the fucking prom tickets already?”

Stan leveled him an _are you an idiot_ look. “Uh, _he_ has told you? Five million times. Where the fuck have you been?”

“I thought he was joking,” Eddie whispered. 

“It’s been eight years.” Stan said, “I don’t think it was ever a joke.”

Eddie blinked. “Oh, _shit_.”

“Are you _kidding me_?” 

“Okay,” Eddie took a deep breath, “What do I do?”

Stan exhaled loudly, staring up at the ceiling. “How should I know? It’s been eight years, this is unbelievable.”

“Wait, what–” Eddie paused. 

“Listen,” Stan told him. “I know you’ve got your own shit, but Richie’s been super loud and gay about being loud and being gay because of _you_, hoping your dumbass would catch a clue, so what’s up?”

“I–” Eddie breathed, “I’m gay. Like, I kind of thought maybe... You guys… knew?”

“Hard to know if you haven’t said it, Ed.” 

“That makes a lot of sense, actually,” said Eddie. “How does _Richie_ know though?”

Stan stared. “Mostly he doesn’t. I know he’s a pushy asshole about it, but that’s just him having the tact of a freaking mammoth.” 

Eddie stared back. There really was no fucking way Richie hadn’t caught Eddie on the act in one of the million times he had checked Richie’s nonexistent ass over the years, but maybe Stan had a point. “Okay. Should I tell him?”

“I don’t _know_, Eddie.” Stan sighed. “In general, yes, probably. In this specific case, also _yes,_ probably. You’ve dragged me into the bathroom to yell about Richie asking you to prom, can you think of why?”

“Why he would ask me to prom?”

Stan frowned, “Jesus. No, why you’d lose your shit about him asking you to prom.”

“I just–” Eddie started. “Like you said, it’s been eight years.”

“I’m saying something and I want you to know that it’s not me being rude about it,” Stan told him, “Even though I’m going to be rude about it.”

“Okay?”

“Please pull your head out of your ass.”

Eddie blinked. “_Oh._Yeah, uh, okay.”

– 

Eddie found Richie sitting outside by the bleachers, his bruised face tilted toward the sun even though he was pretty much covered in sweat stains. He plopped down to sit next to Richie, and he glanced sideways at Eddie.

“Shouldn’t you be in class right now?” Richie asked. 

Eddie twitched, “Shouldn’t you?”

“Fucking fair enough,” Richie said, “So, what’re you skipping English for?”

“So,” Eddie started, watching as Richie stilled briefly next to him before deliberately relaxing. “I’m going to say three things, all you gotta do is tell me whether they’re true or false.”

“Shit,” Richie laughed awkwardly. “Was English that fucking boring?”

“Richie.”

Richie sighed, “Okay, yeah. Ask away.”

“First,” Eddie numbered, “You bought tickets for prom.”

“True.”

“The tickets are for me.”

“Also true.”

“Because you–” Eddie paused, staring at Richie for a second before continuing. “You’re in love with me.”

Richie’s eyes snapped open. “Dude.”

“That’s a fair question.”

“It is,” Richie said, “But, like. Seriously?”

Eddie cleared his throat. “Number three: you’re in love with me.”

“Yes, Eddie.” Richie stated, sounding incredulous. “I am in love with you.”

“Okay, uh–” Eddie paused, very aware of how flustered he sounded. “I have another question, actually–”

“–You said three–”

“–This is, like, a follow-up statement.”

Richie grinned at him, amused. “Huh. I guess I’ll allow it.”

“Why now?”

“We’re just about to be free from this shithole,” Richie answered. “No more Bowers, no more of the usual shit. Just–us."

"And the rest of the Losers," Eddie added, smiling. 

"Yeah," Richie's grin widened. "I guess they're included." 

Eddie watched him, eyes falling to the constellation of freckles that almost disappeared under the black and blue on his face. His lips twitched, 

"I'll go to prom with you." 

"Awesome," Richie told him. "But also, like, not even an _I love you too_? You fucking rude ass."

Eddie snorted.

"Fuck off, Rich."

**Author's Note:**

> the title is a line from _we'll all be..._ by the world's best band, the maine. like, if you're into feeling understood and motivated, give them a listen.


End file.
